


somewhere in the middle

by carrythesky



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Good Place (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - The Good Place (TV) Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Slow Burn, and he wakes up in the "Good Place", basic premise is that Frank dies at the carousel massacre instead of his family, major character death warning is there for obvious reasons lol, pre-dds2 and tps1
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-04-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:48:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22468141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carrythesky/pseuds/carrythesky
Summary: Welcome! Everything is fine.Frank Castle wakes up in the afterlife, a utopia designed to reward humans for the lives they led on Earth. However, he’s not convinced that he’s supposed to be there—and he isn’t the only one.
Relationships: Frank Castle/Karen Page
Comments: 82
Kudos: 119





	1. Chapter 1

_Welcome! Everything is fine._

Frank blinks at the green letters on the wall in front of him. He’s sitting in a small room—it’s quiet and warm, and he takes a breath. Everything _seems_ fine. There’s just—

“Frank?”

The source of the sound is an older man standing in the doorway of what appears to be an office. He has a friendly enough face, but something about the guy seems—off. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s wearing a bow tie and has a pocket square.

“Come on in,” the man says, gesturing to the room behind him.

Frank briefly considers his options. There doesn't appear to be another door leading out of here—wherever _here_ is—so it looks like he only has one choice. He stands and follows the man.

“Hi, Frank,” the man says, sitting down at a large desk. “I’m Michael. How are you today?”

Frank gives the room a cursory glance. “What—what is this? Where am I?”

“Right.” The man— _Michael_ —clasps his hands together on the desk. “I’ll cut to the chase. You, Frank Castle, are dead. Your life on Earth has ended, and you are in the next phase of your existence in the universe.”

Frank blinks. “Bullshirt.” He frowns. “What—why can’t I say _shirt?_ ”

“Oh, cursing is strictly prohibited in the Good Place,” Michael replies.

Frank’s not entirely sure how to process that sentence. It’s like his brain has record-scratched—for a second, he just goes completely blank.

“Let me go back,” Michael says, sensing Frank’s confusion. “The afterlife—it’s not the Heaven and Hell you were raised with. Generally speaking, there’s a ‘Good Place,’ and there’s a ‘Bad Place.’ You’re in the Good Place, Frank.”

This has to be a dream. Albeit, one of the stranger ones he’s had, and definitely the most vivid, but it’s the only thing that makes any sense. His nightmares are typically more violent, a cocktail of memories and flashbacks from his various deployments overseas. Whatever his subconscious has cooked up for him this time, he’ll play along. It’s a welcome change of pace.

“The Good Place,” he echoes.

Michael nods, smiling. “That’s right.”

“And I’m—dead.”

“Two for two. You catch on quicker than most.”

Frank resists the urge to roll his eyes. “How did I die?”

“Ah.” Michael nods knowingly. “In cases of traumatic deaths, such as yours, we erase all memory of the incident to allow for a peaceful transition. Are you sure you want to hear?”

Frank’s pulse quickens. Traumatic death? This is twisted, even for his own brain. “I—yeah, I’m sure.”

Michael pauses for a brief moment. “You were home from deployment, and you and Maria decided to take the kids to Central Park. You all had just made it to your spot by the carousel when a firefight ensued between two rival gangs that were unfortunately also frequenting the area that day. You were caught in the crossfire and killed by a bullet to the head.”

Frank’s blood runs cold. This is a nightmare, after all. He squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself to wake up. Any second now and he’ll wake up, he’ll roll over in bed and kiss his wife—

“Frank.” Michael’s voice is soft. “I’m sorry, truly. However, I want to assure you that your family is safe. Neither Maria or either of your children were injured or hurt physically in any way.”

This is too much. If his subconscious is trying to tell him something, Frank has no idea what. He remembers the conversation with Maria, the too-bright edge to her voice as she suggested they take the kids and have a picnic in the park. A Castle family tradition. Frank knew what she was doing, offering up the park like an olive branch—he always had difficulty acclimating after coming home from deployment, but this time had been worse. It was like he’d pulled on his favorite pair of jeans only to discover they didn’t fit anymore.

He pushes those thoughts away. What had happened after that conversation with Maria? Had they gone to the park? Frank strains to remember, and finds that he can’t. His memories just—stop.

What the _hell_ is going on?

“Wake up,” Frank mutters under his breath. “Wake _up,_ you asshole, c’mon—”

Michael frowns. “This is a difficult transition, Frank—one we could’ve handled more smoothly, I’ll admit—but I can assure you, it’s all very real. Here, let me show you.”

He snaps his fingers—

—and Frank is— _watching_ himself, like a movie. There’s the carousel at the edge of the park, and there’s his family. Maria and the kids are sitting on a blanket they’d spread out on the grass, and movie-Frank loops an arm across his wife’s shoulders. Junior’s pulling tufts of grass up from the earth, and Lisa’s laughing at something—

_Pop-pop._

Frank watches himself stiffen at the familiar sound of gunfire. He watches himself reach for Maria and the kids, crushing their bodies against his. More gunshots, this time closer. Lisa and Junior’s eyes are wide with terror, Maria’s mouth forms the shape of his name—

And he watches a bullet take him in the back of the head.

It’s a few seconds before Frank realizes he’s back in Michael’s office. He feels like he’s just left a warzone—his pulse is racing, and bitter adrenaline coats the back of his throat.

“What the hell was that?” he rasps.

Michael’s expression is somber. “Your death, Frank. Again, I’m sorry—I know this must be difficult to accept—”

Frank digs his nails into his palm. That wasn’t real, it can’t be—

But he’s had realistic nightmares before. This is different.

He watched his family watch him die.

The thought is paralyzing. He can’t imagine it happening the other way around, what it would do to him if he lost Maria, or Junior and Lisa. He can’t imagine living without them. He couldn’t.

Except—he has to. If this is real, if he’s really _dead_ , then that means he’s never going to see his family again.

He needs to get out of here, get somewhere he can think. “How do I leave?” he asks. His trigger finger twitches at his side, a metric for the anger and confusion that have been simmering steadily beneath the surface since he walked into this room.

“This is the afterlife, Frank, you can’t _leave_ —”

“I swear to Christ,” Frank grits through his teeth, “if you don’t tell me how to get the _fork_ out of here—”

That small detail—his inability to swear—is what finally tips him over the edge. All of his fury erupts in a burst of sound and movement as he bellows and drives his fist straight through the wall.

The anger dissipates as quickly as it hit. For a moment, all Frank hears is his own breathing, fractured like radio static.

Finally, Michael speaks. “Take a walk with me, Frank.”

.

The Good Place is—colorful.

That’s Frank’s first impression. The sky is almost _too_ blue, the grass too green. Everything’s brighter than it should be. It’s like walking in a painting, something more beautiful and perfect than the real thing. It sets Frank’s nerves on edge. Wherever he is, whatever is happening to him, he doesn’t belong here.

As if he’s reading Frank’s mind, Michael says, “This is a lot to take in, Frank. Go easy on yourself.”

Frank shakes his head. It’s not like the idea of an afterlife is a foreign concept—he’d grown up Catholic, after all. But accepting this as reality means accepting that he’s actually dead. It means accepting that he left his family behind. He can’t do that, not yet. Not without more information.

“How does this all—work?” he says.

“Glad you asked,” Michael replies. “The Good Place is divided up into distinct neighborhoods. Each one contains exactly three hundred and twenty-two people who have been perfectly selected to co-exist in blissful, harmonic balance.”

Frank snorts. This guy is really trying to sell him.

Michael presses on. “Every neighborhood is unique. Some have warm weather, some cold. Some are cities, others are farmland. But in each one, every detail has been precisely designed and calibrated for its residents.”

“Designed, huh?” Frank asks, curious despite his better judgment.

“By me,” Michael explains. “I’m the architect of this neighborhood. This is actually the very first one I’ve designed. I’ve been an apprentice for over two hundred years, and my boss has finally given me my first solo project.”

Frank takes all of this information in, processing for a moment before saying, “So you’re, what, some sort of angel?” He side-eyes Michael’s suit and bow tie. Definitely not the Heaven he was raised with. He’s starting to suspect that organized religion got a lot of it wrong.

Michael chuckles. “Something like that, yes.”

He slows to a stop. Frank sees that they’ve arrived at what appears to be the center of the neighborhood—rows of chairs have been arranged in a wide semicircle at the base of a large fountain, which appears to be a convergence point for several cobblestone paths that wind off in various directions. Michael gestures to the row of chairs closest to them.

“I’m sure you have a million more questions," he says, "but for now, grab a seat. The movie’s about to begin.”

Frank slides into an aisle seat. His eyes rove over the people who are already sitting, taking stock. It’s a diverse crowd—death apparently doesn’t discriminate. He’s finding it harder to deny that everything Michael has told him is the truth, that he really is dead and destined to spend eternity here, with all of these people.

Frank thinks of Maria, the way she’d kissed him awake the morning after he came home. He thinks of shooting hoops with Junior, strumming chords on his guitar with Lisa. An eternity without them—the possibility is too painful to consider.

A large screen blinks into existence, like a hologram. _The Good Place Orientation: Day One_ , flickers in green letters, and then Michael—wearing a velvet suit this time—bounds into the frame.

“Hello, everyone!” the video Michael says, smiling wide. “And welcome to your first day in the afterlife. You all, simply put, were good people. How do we know that you were good? How are we sure?” He stands to one side of the screen as the words _Good Vs. Bad: An Explanation,_ appear next to him. “During your time on Earth, every one of your actions had a positive or a negative value, depending on how much good or bad that action put into the universe. Every sandwich you ate, every time you bought a magazine—every single thing you did had an effect that rippled out over time, and ultimately created some amount of good, or bad.”

A series of actions pop up on the screen, each with a corresponding positive or negative value. Frank smirks at some of them— _root for the New York Yankees: -99.15_ —and only vaguely listens as the video goes on to explain how point totals are calculated when a person dies. He does another quick scan of the audience. Everyone seems to be watching intently. A few people laugh at something that Michael says.

Frank turns his gaze back towards the screen, and that’s when he makes eye contact with a woman sitting a couple rows in front of him. She does a double-take, giving him an uneasy smile before facing the screen. She seems nervous—she keeps tucking the same strand of blonde hair behind her ear, and she’s fidgeting in her seat.

So. He’s not the only one who’s uncomfortable. The thought is strangely relieving.

“You all are here,” Michael is now saying, “because you lived one of the very best lives that could be lived. And even though your time on Earth has come to a close, you aren’t alone here. This neighborhood has been uniquely designed to bring you all together.” Michael holds his arms open. “So welcome to eternal happiness. Welcome to the Good Place.”

The screen vanishes. There’s a light smattering of applause, and Frank notices that several people are teary-eyed. He frowns. They might have bought into Michael’s story, but Frank’s gut tells him there’s more to the guy than meets the eye. There’s more to this place. Frank can’t— _won’t_ —accept that this is his reality now. He won’t accept that he’s lost his family forever.

Frank gets to his feet, but he doesn’t get more than two steps before Michael—the real one—saunters up to him. “So, what do you think?” he asks.

“I think you were right,” Frank says. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“Well, take it in at your own pace. As long as you don’t, you know”—Michael mimes swinging a fist—“punch anything again.” He offers Frank a shaky smile, which Frank does not reciprocate. “Too soon? Yeah, okay. Anyways—why don’t I show you to your house? You can relax there for a bit, process everything.”

Michael starts off down one of the winding cobblestone streets, gesturing for Frank to follow. “In the Good Place,” he explains, “each person gets to live in a home that perfectly matches their true essence.”

“True essence, huh,” Frank echoes. He’s only half-listening—the rest of his attention is focused on observing his surroundings, getting the lay of the land. The street is lined with shops, mostly restaurants and at least half a dozen frozen yogurt places.

The road splits off, opening up into a grassy meadow. Michael leads Frank up to a small cabin that’s nestled in a thicket of pine trees.

“Welcome to your new home, Frank.” Michael takes a step back. “I’ll let you get settled—I have other people I need to attend to.”

Frank watches him go, then pushes open the cabin’s front door.

The place is sparsely-furnished, and clean. There’s a freshly-made bed in one corner and a small stovetop and fridge situated in the other. Frank glimpses a bookshelf beside the bed. It’s a space that he’s meant to feel comfortable in, a space that’s his own.

But it isn’t. This isn’t his home.

Frank bows his head, letting his eyes close. He inhales deeply and tries to ignore the dread that’s building beneath his sternum. There’s still so much he doesn’t know about this place. He needs answers—

“Hi, there.”

Frank’s eyes snap open. There’s a woman standing in front of him, smiling pleasantly. Frank tenses—he’d closed the door behind him when he came in, or at least, he thought he had.

“Who are you?” he asks, his voice hard.

“I’m Janet,” the woman answers. Her tone is friendly, yet professional. She reaches out, and Frank sees that she’s holding what looks to be a letter in her hand. “I think this is yours.”

Frank takes the folded up piece of paper, glancing between it and the woman—Janet. It’s like time has frozen—he can almost feel the neurons firing in his brain, attempting to make his mouth form words.

“That’s all,” Janet says brightly. “Goodbye!”

And then she—disappears. She must have been a projection, like the welcome video screen.

Frank stares at the empty space for a few seconds, then unfolds the letter slowly. His stomach swoops. That’s his handwriting, but he has no idea what the words on the paper mean. There’s just three of them:

_Frank—find Karen._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy motherforking shirtballs, what am i doing xD 
> 
> this au was inspired by [this](https://carry-the-sky.tumblr.com/post/190223735584/phoenixyfriend-happy-holidays) fantastic art. i'll be updating the tags as we go along as other characters may or may not be making an appearance. *wink*
> 
> title from "snow and dirty rain" by richard siken
> 
> thank you so much for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Karen has never given much thought to the existence of an afterlife. Her parents were the religious ones—she was in a pew every Sunday morning from when she was five until the summer she left for college, singing along with the hymns and pretending to listen to the pastor’s sermon while doodling on the program. It all felt vaguely pointless—she was reasonably sure that if Heaven existed, semi-stale communion bread and cheap wine wouldn’t help a person get there.

God, as it turns out, has a sense of humor.

Here’s what Karen knows: she’s definitely not in New York anymore. This place is unlike anywhere she’s ever been—the buildings and streets are beautiful in a way that’s almost abstract, like she’s inside a photograph. It’s a stark contrast to the city, with all its cold, sharp edges.

She’s fairly certain that Michael is the guy in charge. He’s been with her ever since she arrived, and even though there are other people here—hundreds of others, he’d told her—so far, she’s the only person he seems to be leading around. Karen files the observation away. Maybe everyone else has already gotten the grand tour, but she can’t shake the feeling that something’s not right here.

Karen’s heard stories about people in comas who experience vivid dreams, hallucinations fabricated by their damaged brains. She considers the possibility that she’s lying in a hospital bed somewhere, that all of this is happening inside her head. She considers the possibility that she’s gone insane. After the year she’s had—being framed for murder, narrowly escaping several attempts on her life, taking down Wilson Fisk—neither explanation seems that farfetched.

The alternative is that she’s dead, and that this place really is the forking afterlife.

That’s another thing. She can’t swear, either in her head or out loud. It’s—annoying.

“Karen? Did I lose you?”

Karen blinks. Michael has stopped walking, and is now watching her carefully. He looks more like one of her old college professors than an architect, but that’s how he’d referred to himself. Apparently, Michael designed this entire neighborhood. That’s what he keeps calling it, though it looks and feels more like a small town. There seems to be a main drag where all the shops and restaurants are located—she’d spotted one called _Donut You Want Me Baby_ , and even in this unique set of circumstances it had taken all of her willpower to walk past. If this is all in her head, at least her subconscious is still intact enough to conjure up her favorite fried dessert.

Michael has moved closer to her, concern bleeding across his features. She needs to say something.

“I’m fine,” is what she settles on. “Just processing.”

Michael smiles. It twists his face in a strange way, but then she blinks and he looks normal again. “I know you probably have a million more questions,” he says, “but for now, take a seat. The movie’s about to begin.”

He gestures to the rows of chairs in front of them. People are shuffling past, settling into their seats. Karen follows suit, and a welcome video featuring Michael begins to play. He doesn’t look any younger—in fact, he looks exactly the same, with the exception of the style of his suit and bow-tie. Karen barely has time to dissect this piece of information before he’s launching into an explanation about the positive or negative values of certain human actions.

Karen scans the crowd of people she’s sitting with, doing a double-take when she locks eyes with a man a few rows back. He’s the only person not laughing—apparently video Michael said something funny.

She turns back around, shifting in her seat.

“When your time on Earth has ended,” video Michael is now saying, “we calculate the total value of your life using our perfectly accurate measuring system. It’s a very selective system, and most people don’t make it here. Only those with the very highest scores, the true cream of the crop, get to come here, to the Good Place.”

Karen is suddenly somewhere else—a cold, concrete room, the sedative’s chemical-sweet aftertaste in the back of her throat.

There’s a man sitting across from her, a gun on the table between them.

Her hands don’t shake when she lunges for it.

The video must have stopped—everyone is clapping, but Karen can’t hear anything over the blood rushing in her ears.

Someone has made a mistake. If this truly is Heaven, she sure as hell isn’t supposed to be here.

.

Every resident in the Good Place has their own home, uniquely designed just for them. Karen listens vaguely as Michael explains the process of constructing each individual home based on a resident’s personality and essence. Her thoughts drift to her apartment in New York. It wasn’t anything special, but she can’t help but feel a tug of fondness for its plaster walls and semi-shoddy kitchen appliances. It was the first place she’d lived after leaving Vermont, the first home she’d made on her own.

The neatly manicured streets open up into a vast meadow. Karen spots a small cottage at the end of the lane that she and Michael are walking down—it’s set apart from the other houses on a slight incline, and as they approach, a view of the surrounding foothills opens up.

“Welcome home, Karen,” says Michael.

She tentatively pushes the door open. The interior is small, but it’s more than comfortable for one person. Everything is laid out in an open plan—the kitchen and living area take up most of the space, and there’s a cozy little window seat on the opposite wall that overlooks the entire meadow. A hallway branches off from the main living area, leading to a moderately-sized bedroom. There’s a large writing desk situated in the corner, and Karen sees that these windows boast another comfortable-looking seat.

It’s—perfect. But it also shouldn’t exist, because she shouldn’t be here.

Karen weighs her options. For the time being, she’s going to assume that she hasn’t gone completely certifiable, and that she really is—dead. It’s less than ideal, but it seems to be the most likely reality with the information she currently has. That means there’s either a flaw in the afterlife’s perfect point-measuring system, or the system knew she didn’t belong here and sent her anyways. She’s not sure which scenario disturbs her more.

“I’ll let you settle in,” Michael says, as if he can sense that Karen wants to be alone. “There’s going to be a welcome party tonight in the town square—no pressure, of course, but it would be great if you came.” He starts to leave, then pauses at the door. “Oh, before I forget—hey, Janet?”

A woman appears out of thin air, looking secretarial in a matching vest and a-line skirt. “Hi, there,” she says, waving.

“This is Janet,” Michael says. “She’s the informational assistant here in the Good Place. You can ask her about anything, from the creation of the universe to events throughout history—any question you’d like.”

Karen blinks with surprise. “So—like Siri for the afterlife?”

“Incorrect,” Janet replies, her tone upbeat and pleasant. “I’m an omniscient information delivery system with access to all of the knowledge in the universe. I can also instantaneously retrieve or create any object you may want or need.”

There’s an electronic sound, like a device that’s powering on, and Janet is holding a pot of white roses. She hands it to Karen. “I’d like to see Siri do that,” she says with a wink.

Karen stares at the flowers for a moment before setting them on the bedside table. “They’re beautiful, thank you.”

Janet beams. “You’re welcome!”

Michael moves towards the hallway. “Well, I’ll leave you to it. Hope to see you tonight, Karen.”

Karen expects that Janet will disappear as soon as Michael leaves, but she remains where she is. “Is there anything else I can do for you?” she asks Karen.

Michael had said that Karen would have more questions, and he wasn’t wrong. There’s one in particular that’s been weighing on her mind since she arrived.

“Is it possible to leave the neighborhood?” she says. “Go to a different one?”

“Yes, though it’s very uncommon,” Janet answers. “Most residents are content to remain in their own neighborhoods. There is a transportation device that connects all neighborhoods to other locations within the afterlife.” Janet gestures at herself with her thumb. “It can only be summoned and operated by yours truly.”

Karen’s pulse quickens. “And if you know someone else who has died—can you tell me if they’re here, in the Good Place? Or which neighborhood they’re in?”

“Unfortunately, no. That information is classified as personal, and it’s one-hundred-percent confidential—any information I have about a given resident remains between me and that resident.”

“ _Shirt_.” Karen glances at Janet. “You know I’m trying to say shirt and not— _shirt_ , right?”

Janet inclines her head. “I do.”

Karen moves to sit on the edge of the bed. The small hope she’d been clinging to dissolves, leaving only the familiar pain behind. She hadn’t realized just how badly she wanted to see her brother again until the possibility was dangled in front of her. There’s so much she wants—needs—to say to him.

Of course, she’s assuming he made it here. But what if he didn’t?

Dread rises in her chest, and Karen shoves it down. She’ll figure out how to find him, no matter where he ended up. She just needs time to piece together her next steps.

“Thank you for your help,” she tells Janet. “And I’m sorry if I offended you earlier with the Siri comparison. I’m obviously still learning how everything works here.”

Janet smiles. “No apology necessary. I’m not human, and therefore can’t feel human emotion.”

“Well, thanks anyways.”

Janet nods, and then she’s gone.

Karen heaves a sigh and falls back onto the bed. The sheets are like silk against her skin, and the mattress has just the right amount of firmness. Even the beds in the afterlife are perfect. She lets her eyes shutter. Her worldview has been turned completely on its head, and she’s barely had time to process any of it.

She’s dead.

She’s _dead._

Karen presses a shaking hand to her mouth. The last thing she can remember before waking up outside of Michael’s office is that she was out on a coffee run—

Matt. Foggy.

She hasn’t allowed herself to think about them since she got here, but now, their faces float to the forefront of her mind. Even though she has only known them—knew them, her brain autocorrects—for a little under a year, they were her closest friends. More than that—they were family. And with the firm slowly but steadily picking up clients, the three of them had been doing what they set out to, helping the people who needed it the most. Now, her death is just one more obstacle for the friendship to overcome. Matt and Foggy were finally in a good place with each other—it hurts to think that this might drive a wedge between them again.

It takes Karen a moment to recognize the feeling that has settled in her gut as homesickness. The realization that she’s never going back to her old life is starting to sink in. She’ll never wake up in her own bed again. She’ll never hear Matt’s laugh, or Foggy’s weekly rant about wanting to destroy the printer Office Space style. She’ll never get to drown the stress of her day in a bottle of Josie’s bottom-shelf booze.

She’s in Heaven, a literal paradise, and all she wants is to go home.

But she can’t. This place is home now, and if she really is here for the rest of eternity, she can’t spend it grieving for what she’s lost. She’s not sure what her next move should be, but she does know that she needs more information first.

Karen sighs and opens her eyes. As much as she doesn’t want to be around other people right now, the welcome party is her best bet for trawling for intel.

It’s still light out, so she decides to kill some time by exploring the neighborhood. Janet had mentioned that each neighborhood is a distinct location within the afterlife, and that the only way to leave is via a special transportation device. That must mean that there’s some sort of physical boundary to prevent people from leaving on their own.

That feeling of dread is creeping back, pooling just under her sternum. As Karen makes her way towards the main stretch of town, she can’t shake the feeling that she’s being watched. She casts a discrete glance over her shoulder—there are a few other residents out and about, but no one is paying her any attention. New York drilled home the importance of being vigilant when walking alone, and it’s a hard habit to break, even in the afterlife.

It’s not just that, though. Her gut is telling her that something’s not right, and she trusts her gut. Maybe it’s not the worst idea to keep her guard up, at least for now.

Other people seem to have had the same idea as she did about exploring. The center of town is as crowded as it was during the welcome video. Karen smiles and makes eye contact with everyone she passes, but she’s careful not to get drawn into any conversations. She’s saving up her small talk for the party. For now, she just wants to observe.

One of her first observations is that there are a _lot_ of frozen yogurt places. She counts at least six on the main street alone. It’s odd for reasons she can’t quite place, but she’s also starving, so she ducks into the nearest one.

The menu is equally odd, but Karen can’t help but admire Michael’s creativity in coming up with unique flavors. She settles on _Full Cell Phone Battery_ , then heads outside and grabs a table.

While she eats—her yogurt does, in fact, taste exactly how having a fully-charged phone feels—Karen plans. She’s always tackled problems this way, by breaking them down into manageable objectives. The first thing she needs to do is learn what she can about her fellow residents. Where they’re from, how they died, what kind of life they led—maybe some sort of pattern will emerge, and at the very least she’ll have a metric to compare herself to.

After that, she’ll figure out how to find Kevin.

Karen lets her gaze wander. A short way down the road, she spots Michael. He appears to be having an intense conversation with another resident. Their heads are bowed together, and Michael frowns at something the resident says.

Then, Michael’s eyes snap up to meet hers. Even from this distance, she can see the change in his expression, the careful rearrangement of his features as he smiles warmly.

Karen gives him a nod and then glances away. She counts to thirty, and when she looks again, both he and the resident are gone. She exhales slowly. There’s more to Michael than what’s on the surface. She’s not buying the friendly, welcoming older gentleman routine.

He’s hiding something, but then again, so is she.

It’s like playing a game without knowing all of the rules, but Karen’s always been a fast learner. She has a few puzzle pieces already—she just has to fit them together.

The sky is getting dark, and street lights flicker to life up and down the street. People have started to gather in the open space where the welcome video was played. Karen scrapes the bottom of her cup for the last bite of yogurt, then stands and tosses the empty cup into a nearby recycling bin. She tries not to think too closely about that, or how waste management in general works in the afterlife.

Karen turns to leave—and collides with a man carrying a large cup of coffee, which drenches the front of her blouse and pencil skirt.

“ _Shirt_ ,” the man hisses. “I’m sorry, ma’am—”

Karen looks at him—and realizes that he’s the man she locked eyes with during the welcome video. He’s approximately her height, or maybe an inch taller. He looks like he was in the military back on Earth, judging from his build and haircut. His eyes are dark and intense, though he looks more embarrassed than anything right now.

“It’s fine,” she says. “I’m usually the one spilling coffee on myself, so it’s nice to mix things up.”

The man smiles, his lips tilting at the corner. “Here, let me—” he trails off as he retrieves a handful of napkins from a nearby table.

“Thanks,” Karen says, “but I think there might be an easier way. Hey, Janet?”

Janet appears next to her. “Hi, there— _oh_.” She eyes Karen’s coffee-stained clothing. “Say no more.” There’s that electronic tone again, and when Karen looks down, her clothes are clean and dry.

“Definitely cooler than Siri,” Karen says.

Janet inclines her head. “Fact, but it’s still nice to hear. Anything else I can help with?”

Karen and the man both shake their heads, and Janet vanishes.

“Don’t know if I’ll ever get used to that,” the man says.

Karen smirks. “You can say that again.” She holds out a hand. “I’m Karen.”

The man’s eyes narrow. “You’re Karen?”

“I—yes?” she answers. She drops her hand to her side, staring at the man. His entire posture has stiffened, and he’s surveying his surroundings like he’s expecting to be ambushed at any moment.

“Can we—” he dips his face close to hers. “Can we talk? Somewhere that’s not here.”

Karen tenses, and the man takes a small step back. “I know how this looks,” he says, keeping his voice low. “I wouldn’t blame you for thinking I’m batshirt out of my mind, but—” he tilts his head to catch her eyes. “Hey. Five minutes of your time, yeah? That’s all I’m asking for here.”

Karen holds his gaze. The rest of him is all hard angles and rigid lines, but his eyes—there’s something there, something beneath the steel. He’s afraid, and he’s not trying to hide it.

She recalls the welcome video, the way he hadn’t laughed along with the crowd.

“Five minutes,” she agrees.

He leads her away from the main street. Normally, sirens would be going off in her head, but—her gut is telling her that this guy might be the missing puzzle piece she needs. He’s the first person she’s encountered who seems to be feeling the way she is about being here. She’ll pull this thread, see where it leads.

The man casts a look over his shoulder, as if to confirm that no one has followed them. Then he turns to her, pulling out a sheet of paper from the pocket of his jacket. Wordlessly, he hands it to her.

It’s blank, save for three words: _Frank—find Karen_.

“I don’t remember writing this,” the man—Frank—says, “but that’s my handwriting. And that’s your name, yeah?”

“Where did you get this?” Karen asks.

“Janet. She just—appeared in my house, said that the note was mine.”

Karen frowns. “I don’t understand.”

Frank huffs a laugh, taking the paper back. “You and me both. All I know is that this place isn’t what it seems to be. I don’t know who to trust—but I trust myself, and myself told me to find you.”

“I’ve never seen you before today,” Karen says. “We’ve never met.”

Frank hesitates for a beat. His eyes meet hers, gaze hard and searching. “I know this sounds crazy—but what if we have?”

Karen’s head is spinning. All the puzzle pieces are slowly coalescing into a picture that’s more disturbing than enlightening: maybe she’s done this before. Waking up outside Michael’s office, the welcome video, her house, the absurd frozen yogurt—if what Frank’s saying is true, she’s done it all already. Maybe just twice, or maybe countless times. There is no way of knowing how many times she has repeated this cycle, but one thing is clear.

Wherever she is, it’s definitely not the Good Place.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A GINORMOUS APOLOGY for the delay in updating—i recently started a new job, and it has completely drained my creative well. however, the majority of this chapter is frank and karen interacting, so i hope that kinda makes up for it. :)

He finds her by accident.

The hologram lady—Janet—is his first lead. At some point prior to this, for whatever reason, he gave her that note. It doesn’t matter that he can’t wrap his brain around how that’s possible. He’s holding the physical proof in his hand.

_Frank—find Karen._

He’s read it a dozen times. His handwriting, his words, telling him to find this woman.

The problem is that Frank doesn’t know what’s real and what’s not. He doesn’t know what he can trust. It’s like he’s been dropped behind enemy lines, only he’s completely and utterly alone—no unit, no orders. He could lay low until the threat either presents itself or passes, but he has no idea what the threat is in this situation, or if there even is one. It’s a war he doesn’t know how to fight.

The note could be a trap of some sort, but if he’s ever going to get to the bottom of what’s happening to him, he needs to operate under the assumption that it’s not. Which means—he should probably talk to Janet again.

She appears as soon as he says her name.

“Hi there,” she says, echoing the way she had greeted him just moments ago. “How can I help you?”

Frank holds up the note. “Where did you get this?”

“After I was rebooted, I found it in my mouth,” Janet replies cheerfully.

“Rebooted?” Frank says. “Like—a computer?”

Janet nods. “Essentially. My purpose is to serve as a basic operational mainframe for both the Good and Bad Place. In the event of a glitch or continued malfunction, my operating system can be restarted.”

Frank frowns. “How many times have you been restarted?”

“Unclear,” Janet answers. “Each time a Janet is rebooted, her memory is wiped.”

Frank turns this information over in his head. Whatever the reason for the neighborhood rebooting, Janet’s apparently in the dark about it, too. Could she be lying about her memory being wiped? She’s an artificial intelligence created to run the afterlife—she could easily manipulate him. But she’s also his only lead. Without this note, he’s back at square one.

“Can anyone access our conversation history?” he asks, thinking about Michael. If Janet was rebooted, it’s possible that the entire neighborhood was—and Michael is the guy in charge of all of it. The less he knows about what Frank is doing, the better.

Janet shakes her head. “Nope! It’s one-hundred-percent confidential. No one can access what you ask me, including Michael.”

Some good news, Frank thinks. Finally.

“I’m looking for someone named Karen,” he says, holding the note up. “Think you could point me in the right direction?”

“Unfortunately, no. Each resident’s personal information, including their location within the neighborhood, is also confidential.”

Frank presses his fingers to his temples. If the entire neighborhood was really rebooted, it’s possible that someone knew that he and Karen had met before, and they’re trying to prevent the two of them from meeting again. That would explain why Janet can’t share personal information between residents—it would make it that much harder for the two of them to track each other down.

They must have learned something about the neighborhood, something they shouldn’t have. But what?

More questions. Every answer he gets only tells him how much he doesn’t know. The one through-line he has in all of this is Karen.

He needs to find her.

Frank swipes a hand across his face, fingers knuckling into his eyes. He’s exhausted, and he hasn’t really felt it until now—he’s been too keyed up with anticipation and nerves. Now that he’s tuned in to it, the prickling tension behind his eyes is becoming more than a small annoyance.

He glances sidelong at Janet. “One more question—is there a coffee joint in the afterlife?”

.

In hindsight, maybe he should’ve gotten something without caffeine.

As it turns out, not even his standard black coffee is enough to keep him from running into Karen—literally. She’s leaving a frozen yogurt place just as he’s walking past, and his spatial awareness skills kick in a second too late.

He doesn’t recognize her at first—he’s too busy apologizing and hastily scanning the area for something to clean up the mess to really look at her. It’s not until she summons Janet to help that he realizes why she looks so familiar. She’s the woman who was uncomfortable during the welcome video.

Then she holds out a hand and says her name.

This has to be a coincidence, or whoever’s conspiring to keep them from contacting each other is doing a piss-poor job. He hadn’t expected to find her so quickly, and it feels almost too easy. He should retreat now, make a game plan when his head is a bit clearer and he’s had more time to think.

“Can we talk?” he finds himself saying, instead.

She has no reason to trust him, or listen to what he has to say. This is a long shot, and he knows it. But it’s also the only one he’s got.

“Five minutes of your time, yeah?" he says. "That’s all I’m asking for.”

She meets his eyes. There’s no fear there, no suspicion—her gaze is contemplative, like she’s trying to solve a puzzle.

“Five minutes,” she says.

The main stretch of road is crawling with people, and Michael could be anywhere. Frank has no idea if or how any of the infrastructure here might be bugged, so he does the only thing he can think to do and leads Karen away from all of it. He can’t quite believe that she agreed to follow him, but maybe it means that she has her own reservations about this place.

Good. Between the two of them, they might be able to get some forking answers.

Karen listens as he explains how he found the note. Whatever he’d been expecting when he found her, it wasn’t this—she seems completely unfazed by his words, like the revelation that they’ve possibly met before is as mundane as him telling her the sky is blue.

“So, your theory is that this entire neighborhood, including everyone in it, has been—rebooted,” Karen says after a minute. Her tone isn’t accusing or judgmental—it’s as if by saying the words aloud, she can make sense of them herself.

Frank half-shrugs. “It’s not much, but it’s all I’ve got. Or, someone’s just forking with us.”

Karen huffs a laugh. “That’s the one thing I’m completely sure about.” She brings a hand to her mouth, tapping her fingers absently against her lips. “Okay, let’s run with this—you and I clearly met here, somehow, before now. That means that you wrote this note before the reboot.”

Frank nods. “I think that one or both of us found out something we shouldn’t have. And now—”

“Someone’s trying their best to make sure that doesn’t happen again,” Karen finishes.

Frank opens his mouth to agree—and at the same moment, an explosion roars overhead.

He reacts on instinct, grabbing Karen and ducking down. His eyes ricochet between the ground and sky, searching for the source of the noise. Like a reflex, his arms encircle Karen, one hand stabilizing her around the torso while the other covers her head.

“Hey, what—” Karen twists out of his grip, stumbling to her feet. Her eyes are wide.

That’s when he sees the bursts of light and color. Fireworks. It’s just fireworks.

Frank swallows. His mouth is dry, and he can feel his heart like a jackhammer against his ribs. He inhales through his nose, and his pulse evens out a bit.

Karen’s looking at him warily. “The welcome party, I’m guessing,” she says. “Did Michael not tell you?”

“Must’ve forgot to mention it,” Frank grumbles, standing. “Sorry if I scared you. I’m fresh off my last deployment. Actually just got home when—” he looks at the ground. “Anyways, I’m still in that headspace. Kinda went into autopilot there. I’m sorry, ma’am.”

She’s quiet for a moment, and when he glances up, he sees that her eyes have softened. “You can call me Karen,” she says.

“Karen,” he echoes. He realizes that he hasn’t actually introduced himself aside from showing her his name on the note. “I’m Frank.”

Karen smirks. “I would say it’s nice to meet you, but given the circumstances—”

It’s Frank’s turn to laugh. “Trust me, I get it. No offense taken here.”

More fireworks erupt overhead. Frank cranes his neck and can make out the word _Welcome!_ just before it fizzles out.

“I should probably go,” Karen says. “Michael seemed to expect that I’d make an appearance.”

“That explains why I didn’t get an invite,” Frank muses. “He really doesn’t want us talking. If Janet hadn’t appeared with that note, it might’ve worked. I’m definitely not the party-crashing type.”

“I’m not either,” Karen says, “but maybe it’s good that you weren’t invited. We couldn’t have talked without Michael noticing. And it’s probably best if we avoid being seen together, at least right now.”

“Agreed,” says Frank. The last thing he wants is to give Michael an excuse to reboot everything again.

Karen nods. Silence stretches between them for a moment—she looks like she wants to say something else, but instead, her mouth presses into a line.

“Hey,” Frank says, inclining his head slightly. “Thank you, Karen.”

Karen quirks an eyebrow. “For what?”

“Listening. Trusting that I’m not completely out of my skull.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far. You do drink straight black coffee.”

Frank snorts. “Classy. Guess I deserved that.”

Karen’s mouth twists, like she’s trying not to smile. “You’re welcome, Frank.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “So—I’m assuming that our houses are being watched. If we need to talk again, we’re going to need a neutral location.”

Frank bobs his head. As risky as it is to meet out in the open, he knows that Karen is mostly likely right about their homes being monitored. The thought makes his stomach squirm. This is starting to feel like one of those novels where the peaceful utopia turns out to be something far more insidious.

“Let’s meet here,” he says. “It’s far enough off the main road. I’ll scope out the area and see if I can find anything better, but for now this should work. As for how we should contact each other—”

“I have an idea for that,” Karen says. “Janet gave me these flowers, as a housewarming gift. I was thinking I could put them in my window as a sort of signal. If something comes up, I’ll put them out in the morning, and we can meet here that evening.”

“Won’t it look suspicious if I’m lurking around your house?”

Karen shakes her head. “There’s a trail system that runs right along my road. You look like the kind of guy who goes on the occasional jog.” She shrugs. “I know it’s not a perfect system, but it should work well enough until we figure something else out.”

Frank looks at her. He briefly wonders what her line of work was back on Earth—probably something that required a high level of analytic thinking, if the very short time he’s known her is anything to go by. She’s intuitive, and definitely smarter than he is.

A chorus of cheers resounds from the direction of the town square. Karen’s head whips toward the sound before she glances back at Frank. “Keep an eye out? The flowers are white roses.”

“Got it,” Frank says. “Enjoy the party.”

“I’m sure I will,” Karen says with a wry smile. “See you around, Frank.”

She turns and is out of sight within seconds, dissolving into the night. He hadn’t realized how late it was—it feels like a week has passed since this morning. He squints a little against the darkness as he makes his way toward the road that splits off to his house. His thoughts loom like a thunderhead while he walks. He still has no idea if or how he can make it back to his family, and the realization is like a lead weight in his gut. They think that he’s dead, and he has no way of reaching out to them, no way to tell them that he’s—still here, somehow. He’s not gone.

All of this is so far beyond his comprehension. Michael was right about one thing—it isn't the idea of Heaven and Hell that he was raised on. This is something else entirely.

Still, he can’t help feeling a little lighter. He’s still behind enemy lines, but at least now he has an ally.

Another round of fireworks explode in the sky above him, but this time, he doesn’t flinch. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at the risk of sounding like a broken record, i'm SO SORRY for the delay in updating. i really have no excuse, other than [john mulaney voice] life, you know? if you're still here and reading, you are wonderful. <3

She doesn’t want to be here.

There are a _shirt_ -ton of people, to start with. She’d been expecting a crowd, but it looks like almost the entire town is here, packed like sardines into the square. Karen has never had a problem being around people—she likes melting into the background, finds it’s easier to do so when she’s just one face in a swarm of many. Now that she’s here, though, she feels strangely exposed, isolated. It’s a stark contrast to five minutes ago, when she was with Frank. She felt instantly at ease with him in a way she absolutely shouldn’t have, like she’d known him a lot longer than the few minutes they were talking.

But that’s just it—she has known him longer. They’ve met before.

Karen shakes her head. She needs to focus on doing what she came here to do: scope out the other residents, see if any of them are getting weird vibes from the neighborhood. Look for patterns. If there are more people here who have been rebooted, that means that she and Frank aren’t outliers.

She introduces herself to everyone she sees, making small talk while subtly probing for more information. Her dad called her nosy, growing up, and maybe she was—but their family shoved a lot under the carpet. Sniffing out the truth became second-nature.

Her first round of conversations yields very little. Most of the residents seem to love the neighborhood, and they were all exceptionally good people on Earth. Karen talks to at least three human rights attorneys, a handful of doctors and surgeons, and a man who claims that one of his kidneys is in the Dalai Lama.

This place asks a lot in terms of suspending disbelief, but she’s calling bullshirt on that one.

“Karen!” Michael’s voice booms, and she turns to see him approaching her. “So glad you made it. I have something for you, here—”

He ushers her away from the group of residents she was talking to. “Karen,” he says again, and that uneasy feeling is back in her gut, like a towel being wrung dry. “You and I both know that you’re not like everyone else in the neighborhood. Everyone here lead a remarkable life, but you—the work you did on Earth was just extraordinary. Fighting injustice, exposing corruption—you’re a good person, Karen.”

Michael’s hand slips inside his suit jacket, reaching for something, and Karen instinctively tenses—

He withdraws a small remote. Karen stares at it, uncomprehending.

“I had Janet whip this up for you,” he says. “Just hit the power button, and you’ll be able to watch any moment from your life. A fitting gift for the neighborhood’s number-one point-getter, wouldn’t you say?”

Karen blinks several times. “I’m sorry, the number-one—what?”

Michael waves his hand, and a holographic image appears in front of them. It’s a list of names with corresponding point totals, and at the very top are the words _Karen Page_ , shining in bright, green letters.

Karen's blood freezes. Of all the things she’s seen and experienced since arriving here, the assertion that she’s somehow the best person who got into the Good Place—this takes the cake for being the most insane.

She’s about to open her mouth to say so, to argue that there’s been some sort of colossal mistake, when she glances up and sees the expression on Michael’s face. He’s not smiling, not exactly. It’s like looking at someone who has never seen a smile and is told to approximate one—there’s just something _off_ about the way it sits on his face, the hard glint behind his eyes. She’s reminded of a fox that’s cornered its prey.

He holds out the remote. Karen takes it.

“I think you’ll enjoy reminiscing,” he says, his words slow and careful. “You’ve certainly earned it.”

And then, like a dam breaking, he’s plastering that overly-friendly expression back onto his face, waving at someone over her shoulder. “Enjoy the rest of the party,” he says, before walking off.

Karen stands rooted to the spot. The remote is a lead weight in her hands, but she can’t force herself to move. Around her, the party is carrying on, the low hum of people chatting in between bites of finger food snagged from the long buffet table set up by the fountain. On paper, it all looks benign, but in this moment, Karen feels as if she can see right through it. Michael, the residents, the party, this entire neighborhood—transparent as a pane of glass.

One crack is all it will take. She just needs to find that pressure point, and _boom_. Everything comes shattering down.

Karen takes her time leaving, exchanging surface-level pleasantries with a few more residents before heading home. The streets are empty, and Karen’s hand reflexively grasps for her pistol before she remembers that it’s not in her bag, that she doesn’t have it anymore. Her heart kicks a little faster. She feels just as defenseless and vulnerable here, in the afterlife, as she did walking alone in the city.

As soon as she’s in her house, Karen locks the door. She stands there for a beat, her hand still clenched around the remote. Whatever this is, whatever Michael wanted her to see, putting it off will likely just make things worse.

She pushes the power button.

Her house vanishes, replaced by an empty nothingness that stretches in every direction. Karen inhales sharply, but nothing happens. She's just—standing here. Glancing down, she spots a menu button near the top of the remote, and she pushes it tentatively. A large television screen appears in front of her. Multiple bubbles are floating across the screen, each one a category that highlights a different part of her life. Karen sees one labeled _Friends_ , another, _Work_.

And there, hovering in the corner— _Family._

Karen points the remote at that bubble, and it pops, revealing three smaller bubbles. These are labeled too, but with names instead of categories. And unlike the list of names Michael had pulled up at the party, she instantly recognizes these.

Mom. Dad.

Kevin.

Karen forces herself to breathe. What is Michael’s angle, here? Maybe that _best person_ charade was an attempt to get her to confess that she doesn’t actually belong here, but then, does that mean that he knows who she really is? He clearly has access to information about her life on Earth—if he knows that Karen was sent to the Good Place by mistake, and he knows that _she_ knows that, too—

She looks at her family’s names, and all she sees is pain. Four people who loved and hurt each other in equal measure. There’s only one reason that Michael would give her this, knowing what her reaction to it would be.

With shaking hands, Karen lifts the remote again and points it at Kevin’s bubble.

The void dissolves, replaced with a room she’s intimately familiar with. There’s his _Rumours_ poster, faded and peeling at the edges; clothes strewn across the floor; a row of shelves against the far wall bearing various plaques and trophies from track meets and science fairs, everything he threw himself into that served as a respite from his dysfunctional family.

She’s standing in her brother’s room.

He’s sitting at his desk, a hardwood antique that belonged to some distant relative, hunched over an open book. Karen is lying prone on his bed, her ankles twined together—it’s her younger self, she realizes with a jolt. Judging by her appearance—the length of her hair and fullness to her cheeks—this is before she dropped out of college.

“They’re still making you guys read that crap?” younger Karen scoffs, picking at a nail.

Kevin shifts in his chair. “It’s not so bad.”

“You’d think teachers would be a little more creative,” she continues, as if she didn’t hear him. “I mean, Shakespeare isn’t the only playwright who ever existed.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t flunked English, you’d appreciate it a little more.”

Karen watches her younger self poke her tongue out. “You’re such a jerk.”

“Learned it from you,” Kevin replies with a smirk.

The scene shifts—heavy afternoon light slants through the window, and Karen can see snow dusting the branches of the trees outside. Kevin is now sitting on the bed, a different book propped against his bent knees. Younger Karen slouches against the door. Her hair is shorter and there are dark circles under her eyes.

“—and I told Dad not to worry about it, but you know how he is,” Kevin is saying, his thumb teasing the corner of his book. He glances over to his sister when she doesn’t reply. “Hey, Earth to Karen.”

Younger Karen blinks rapidly, swiveling her head in Kevin’s direction. “Sorry, what?”

“Unbelievable,” Kevin mutters, turning back to his book.

“Hey,” Karen says, and there’s an edge to the word. “I’m sorry, but—it’s been a shitty week, alright?”

“What else is new?”

Anger flashes in Karen’s eyes. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I could ask you the same question,” Kevin bites back, his voice a little wobbly. “Look—if you don’t want to come home, then don’t. I’m sick of you pretending like you want to be here.”

Silence hangs in the air, brittle as broken glass. Then younger Karen speaks, her words slow and soft. “I’m not—I’m not pretending, Kev. I miss you. I miss spending time with you. You know that, right?”

Kevin doesn’t meet his sister’s gaze, and even though it’s a memory, Karen feels her throat go tight.

“Yeah,” he finally says, scrubbing a hand over his eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

Karen punches the remote’s power button.

Her brother’s bedroom fades, and then she’s standing in her house’s entryway again. Heat stings behind her eyes, but she blinks before the tears can fall.

This remote doesn’t just let a person watch all of the memories from their life—it allows a person to _relive_ them. That sounds good on paper, but Karen has plenty of memories she wouldn’t mind forgetting. The thought of experiencing them again makes her stomach twist up in knots. It would be torture.

And that’s when it clicks.

She needs to talk to Frank.

Karen is already reaching for the pot of roses that’s still on her nightstand when a thought occurs to her, cold like ice water down her spine. What if he’s a part of it? This could be a trap, all part of a strategic and carefully-designed game. Frank could be one of Michael’s pawns. She truly has no way of knowing if she can trust him.

Karen remembers his reaction to the fireworks, how he’d instinctively moved to protect her when he thought they might be in danger. It didn’t feel like he was just going through the motions, playing off of some invisible script that had been written out for him. It felt genuine.

And really, there are only two ways this whole thing can play out—either her hunch is right, or it isn’t. The neighborhood has already been rebooted once, and Karen has no reason to believe that won’t happen again. She’s not keen on going down this rabbit hole, but that’s never mattered much when it comes to exposing the truth. A loose thread is a loose thread. She’ll follow this one as far as she can.

Karen puts the flowers in her windowsill.

Sleep doesn’t come easily, and the small bit she manages is scattered and restless. Karen wakes in the morning feeling disoriented, but then her eyes land on the flowers, and anticipation churns in her gut, jolting her system like adrenaline. She adjusts the pot, then carries it out to the larger window in the living area, making sure it’s sitting in the absolute best vantage point. Her plan for the two of them to communicate seemed relatively clever in the moment, but now she can see the myriad of ways it could go wrong. Frank could walk past the wrong house, or miss the flowers, or forget the plan entirely—

Coffee is probably not what she needs right now, being keyed-up the way she is, but she finds a bag stashed in one of the kitchen cabinets and brews a cup anyways. Then, she summons Janet.

“Good morning! How can I help you today?”

Karen takes a slow, savory sip of her drink. “Janet, can you tell me anything about—the Bad Place?”

“No, I’m sorry,” Janet says, and she sounds genuinely apologetic. “That’s the one topic I’m not authorized to tell you about. I can only play you a brief audio clip of what is happening there, right now.” Janet waves a finger, and a cacophony of noise—mostly people screaming—erupts as if she’d blasted the volume on a stereo.

Karen winces, and the noise stops. “Sounds lovely.”

“It’s not,” Janet says with a smile.

Karen wraps her hands around her coffee mug. Either that audio clip is fake, or it's from a different neighborhood than hers. Even if that really was the Bad Place, Janet had told her before that there were multiple neighborhoods throughout the afterlife. And what had Michael said? Each one is tailored for its specific residents.

This neighborhood _was_ made for her, but not for the reasons she initially thought.

It’s still several hours from evening, which was when she and Frank had agreed to meet, so Karen kills some time by going for a walk. She half expects to see him coming up the road that leads to her house, and can’t decide if she’s relieved or disappointed when the only faces she encounters are unfamiliar ones.

She takes in the neighborhood as she wanders. It all looks and feels like the perfect utopia, but there are cracks in the veneer, things that escaped her before. Karen has noticed that none of the other residents ever talk to her for very long, though they’re friendly enough. That vague sensation that she’s being watched lingers the longer she walks, though when she turns her head, no one is paying her any attention.

Assuming she’s correct, and this actually isn’t the Good Place, why pretend that it is? She’s not operating under any delusions here—she still has close to no idea how the system in the afterlife works—but she imagines it would be easier to just send her directly where she belongs. No fuss, no games. Growing up, her image of Hell was fire and brimstone, the Devil as a monster with bat wings and a forked tail. All the classic stereotypes. But Michael had been right—this isn’t what she was raised on. She can’t decide yet if it’s better or worse, but at least there’s no hellfire.

The shadows are long brushstrokes on the ground by the time she circles back to the grove of trees where she’d first spoken with Frank. She’s early—there’s still a fair bit of daylight left, but she doesn’t want to go back to her house. Karen settles on a nearby patch of grass, tucking her legs beneath her.

There’s the soft sound of dirt crunching underfoot, and Karen stiffens—

It’s Frank. She spots him between the leaves and branches, his dark clothes camouflaging him a bit against the foliage.

“Message received, apparently,” she says, standing.

Frank raises a hand in greeting. “I know I’m a little early—figured you’d have something to share from last night.”

“You could say that.”

“How was it?” he asks. “Make any new friends?”

Karen smirks. “Not exactly. Although I did get a present.”

She tells him about the remote, and watches him quirk an eyebrow when she mentions why Michael gifted her with it.

“Best person, huh?” he says. “Impressive.”

“Except I’m not,” she counters. “Look, I’m the last person who should be here. I've—done things. Things that definitely wouldn't land me in the Good Place.”

It should feel strange, admitting something so personal to someone who is essentially still a stranger, but instead, she feels—lighter, like she’s just come up for air after being underwater. For the first time since she arrived here, since she _died_ , it’s like she can breathe again.

It feels good, not having to pretend to be someone she isn’t.

Frank’s brow creases. “So what are you saying? You were sent here by mistake?”

“That’s what I initially thought. But then Michael gave me that remote—” she hesitates, and it feels like the breath before the plunge. If Frank is in on this, then he’s with Michael, and she’ll just be rebooted again anyways. None of it will matter. She can’t— _won’t_ —let fear deter her.

“I think that Michael is torturing us,” she says.

Frank is looking at her, the expression on her face something she can’t quite parse, but then he’s blinking, and his features rearrange into something more neutral. “Torture—with a remote?"

"I know how it sounds," Karen says. "I grew up with a religious family. I was spoon-fed the warnings about hellfire and eternal anguish. But—I don't know, maybe eternal anguish looks different for everyone. Being here, in this perfect place, just reminds me that I'm not. And that remote—Michael is taunting me. He's trying to torment me with memories, all the things from my past that I've tried to bury."

"Hm. So you think we're in Hell."

“That’s my theory, yes.”

“And Michael—”

“Definitely not an angel.”

Frank is quiet for a few seconds. “That’s quite the theory, ma’am.”

“I know,” Karen says, huffing out a breathy laugh, “but it’s the only thing that makes any sense to me. And it’s a pretty smart plan, on Michael’s end. Torture us slowly and subtly, enough to make us uncomfortable but not enough to give away that we’re actually not in the Good Place.”

“But you were able to figure it out,” Frank says. “Assuming you’re right. Seems like a big slip-up for an all-powerful immortal being to make.”

“It does. But he knows we figured it out before—that’s why we were rebooted. Even if we learn the truth, he can just wipe our brains and start again.”

“Purgatory, huh?” Frank says, pulling a face.

“Except our memories keep getting erased, so we never get to atone for our so-called sins,” Karen says. “We’re stuck here.”

Frank bobs his head slightly, and she gets the impression that he’s processing. Maybe there are some things that carry over with each reboot—that would explain why she feels so comfortable around him, or why she trusts him without having any logical reason to.

“Well, as long as we’re sharing,” he finally says, voice scraping low, “I never felt like I belonged here, either. Still half-convinced this is some sort of forked up fever-dream. But if it’s not—”

“You think I might be right,” Karen finishes for him.

Frank meets her eyes. “I do. Plus”—his lips twitch, like he’s trying not to smile—“how else would you explain all the frozen yogurt?”

“Oh my god,” Karen says, covering her mouth with her hand. “I’m so glad I’m not the only one who thought that was weird.”

“Never understood the hype, myself. So, what do we do now?”

“Janet told me there was a way out of the neighborhood, a transportation system that moves throughout the afterlife. She’s the only one who can operate it.”

“How do we know we can trust her?” Frank asks.

“Michael. It all comes back to him. He created the neighborhood. And Janet told you that she has no memory of the reboot, right? That tells us that Michael controls her programming, not the other way around.” Karen wrinkles her nose. “God, it’s like I’m describing the Matrix. Maybe this whole place is just one gigantic computer program.”

“I won’t be much help if that’s the case,” Frank says. “Only ever saw the first one.”

Karen shrugs. “That was the best one, anyways.” She meets Frank’s gaze, and is once again struck by how easy it is to talk with him, how effortless it feels. She’s known the man for less than a day, and yet—Frank is the one thing about this place that doesn’t feel _wrong_.

Still. He’s under no obligation to follow her down this road. Karen has her teeth in it now, and she’s not letting up until she gets to the truth, but she won’t be the only one who will suffer the consequences if she’s gotten this all wrong.

“You don’t have to leave,” she tells him. “Reboots or not, we barely know each other. I would understand if you wanted to stay here.”

Frank shakes his head. “What you said, about pain being different for everyone—I feel the same. This place is just a reminder of everything I'm not." He runs a hand over his head, tilting his head slightly. "This feels like the right move. I can't explain it, but—I trust my gut, and my gut’s telling me to go.”

“Alright, then.” Karen takes a breath. “Here goes—hey, Janet?”

Janet appears with that familiar electronic tone. “Hi, there!”

“We’d like to leave the neighborhood,” Karen says, gesturing between herself and Frank. “You mentioned before that there was a way to do that.”

Janet nods. “Of course. Residents can leave via train and are permitted to visit any other neighborhood in the Good Place. The train is also able to make a stop at a neutral neighborhood—neither a good place, nor a bad place.”

“A neutral neighborhood?” Karen echoes. “So—a medium place?”

“Correct! The neighborhood is home to just one resident. It was designed specifically for her.”

“Would Michael be able to follow us there?”

“That’s a negative,” Janet replies. “Architects aren’t able to access neighborhoods that they didn’t help design.”

Karen glances at Frank. “I don't think we're going to get a better offer than that. What do you think?”

“I’m in,” he says.

Karen holds his gaze for a moment. There’s a strange sensation taking root in her chest, and it takes a second for her to recognize it as relief. She didn’t realize until this moment that she’d been expecting Frank to react very differently to her proposal. She’d expected to go this alone, the way she always has. The way she’s used to.

But she’s not alone, not this time.

She turns to Janet. “Call the train.”


End file.
